


Sweet Peas and Honey Bees

by graceandkooky



Series: New Blossoms & Old Roots [1]
Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 21:10:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11365689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceandkooky/pseuds/graceandkooky
Summary: Grace is in San Diego, Frankie is in Santa Fe, and somewhere in between they (metaphorically speaking) meet in the middle.A series of communications between the pair. It ends happily, I promise.





	Sweet Peas and Honey Bees

**Author's Note:**

> The first section is probably the worst. I wanted to work on it more but I just need it out of my hair for now. If you can make it beyond that bit, the rest is better, I swear.
> 
> Please leave me a comment if you like it! I'm not quite sure if the concept of the different communications worked so I'd love to know what you think.

Tuesday, San Diego

Grace looks down at her phone and sees another one of Frankie's endless stream of messages.

**Frankie: I'm seriously sweating up a storm here. Send me water, stat. Or better yet ice so I can make a badass igloo. xxx**

She laughs and takes another sip of her martini. Frankie sends her frequent (to put it mildly) updates from Santa Fe and she loves getting them, she really does. Although they tug at her insides, reminding her of the miles and miles between them, they bring her happiness in far greater measure. Because Frankie hasn't forgotten about her. Still wants to keep her as involved in her life as possible. As close. Grace writes back.

**Grace: I'm pretty sure the ice would melt, Dummy. But I'd send some if we didn't still have a drought. I need what's left for the plants. X**

They planted a little garden before Frankie left - tomato plants and sweet peas, and an abundance of herbs. Grace barely manages to water them without tearing up. But she tends them patiently, imagining the honey bees and pastel blossoms that will soon come. The bees, with their buzzing energy that will remind her, even more, of Frankie and her giddiness. The flowers that will remind her of how Frankie has taught her to bloom into softness. To reach towards the sun. Her phone pings again.

**Frankie: Fine fine fine. Don't overwater the patch though, you never know when to stop. Not everything likes to drink as much as you do ;) ;) xxx**

Grace rolls her eyes and smiles to herself. She gets up and walks to the kitchen, readying a pan on the stove for pasta and carbonara sauce. More carbs than she used to consume ever, but Frankie's given her strict instructions not to waste away in her absence. Her absence, which sometimes seems like a palpable presence. On the best days, it feels like Frankie is still in the house. Still saging the porch to ward away god knows what. Still singing in her studio. Still leaving floury fingerprints all over the couch cushions. Grace lives for those days, because it makes it a little easier to pretend there's not a gaping hole in her world. On the worst days, it seems like Frankie is on another planet. Okay, she smirks, it _always_ seems like Frankie is on another planet. But on the bad days, it feels like a planet that Grace hasn't even heard of, where they speak in a language that Grace hears but can't make out.

She starts the water, leaving it to boil. Adds a pinch of salt. She's been much more aware of the sodium content in everything lately, even though Frankie's not around to cook for. She still checks the labels, checks the internet, checks anything she can get her hands on. She tells herself it's for her own benefit - everyone could do with cutting down - but she knows that's a lie she can't quite bring herself to believe.

She drops in the pasta, turning it to simmer. Glances at the magazine on the counter that she's been half-heartedly flicking through for days. Runs her fingers over a scarf she thinks Frankie would love. She'll send it her as a gift, she decides, turning down the corner of the page. Finishes off her drink. Sets about making the sauce.

When she finally sits down in front of the TV with her dinner, flicking on some mind-numbing comedy show, she imagines her past self watching her from across the room. Her past self, who would berate anyone for eating on the couch. Who would have turned her nose up at sitcoms. Who probably, she admits, wouldn't even have eaten dinner. She waves her goodbye. Frankie has changed her in so many hard to believe, wonderful ways and now she nurtures every one.

She sets her plate aside and curls up, picking up her cell which sounded over and over again while she was cooking. Opens her inbox.

**Frankie: Grace are you mad at me? I was only kidding about the drinking!!! xxx**

**Frankie: Grace talk to me I miss you xxx**

**Frankie: Please say you miss me baccckkkkk xxx**

**Frankie: Come on Grace, pleaaaase, I know you do!!! xxx**

**Frankie: Grace quick, I'm stroking out again -- say it before it's too late xxx**

Grace shakes her head, chuckling at Frankie's impatient antics. Bites her lip when she reads Frankie's pleas, because _of course_ she misses her. Misses her more than she'd even prepared for, and she'd prepared to miss her a great deal. Misses her ridiculous but dazzling mis-matched outfits. Misses her nine hundred rings that clink together when Frankie claps her hands. Misses the rub of her legs under the covers and the spine-tingling hugs that they shared more and more frequently. And her hair - her hair that looks, constantly, like she's slept out on the sand by the ocean. She misses her hair most of all.

She selfishly wishes that Frankie would come back. Come home. But it's not just about her anymore, she realises, and she cares too much about Frankie to ever stand in the way of her happiness. She tucks away the weight of her feelings and replies.

**Grace: Don't even joke! You're impossible. Yes, I miss you, you idiot. X**

Frankie messages back almost instantly, before Grace even has time to check hers has sent.

**Frankie: Don't ever leave me hanging like that again, Hanson!! I was about to lose my shit. Hahaha!! xxx**

**Frankie: I really do miss you. I wish my walkie talkie could pick up your signal from here. xxx**

Grace squeezes her eyes tight. She imagines Frankie laughing on the other end. Misses that full-belly cackle more than she can bear to think about. Wishes she could hear it.

**Grace: There's this thing called a cellphone, Frankie. Use it to call me tomorrow. I'm heading to bed now. Goodnight, Crazy Clogs. X**

She switches everything off downstairs. Puts her plate in the dishwasher. Eventually makes it under the warmth of her covers. She checks her messages one last time before she calls it a night.

**Frankie: I will, Groucho Grace. Your Idiot is sending you sweet dreams. xxx**

Grace sighs, smiling, tracing the words on the screen. She changes Frankie's name in her phone and goes to sleep.

Wednesday, Santa Fe

Frankie's been extra jittery all day. The kind of jittery you get after drinking twelve cups of coffee (ha! as if Grace would let her get away with that). She's always skittish - can never focus on one thing for more than a millisecond because there is just so much beauty around her. But this is beyond that. She can't think about laundry without remembering Grace's perfectly starched collars. Can't look up at the stars without picturing Grace's little pearl earrings. Can't look at the ocean without imagining Grace's cornflower blue eyes glinting in the sun.

And Jacob is great, he really is. He lets her eat breakfast without talking her ear off about the latest tweed trend to hit the country club. Doesn't smack her hand away from her third Krispy Kreme. Doesn't smell like stepping up to a Saks perfume counter. He isn't Grace. And she likes him - she does. Could picture a life with him. But now she's here, living that life, and it feels like a white hot coal is tearing through her insides. Like a white hot lie. Like she's lost her glasses and nothing feels in focus (and Grace always knew where to find her glasses).

Because living with Grace was sometimes infuriating and madness-inducing and drove her to the edge of sanity. Was like fighting with some jackass republican on twitter. Like jumping out of a plane with very little safety gear and a parachute with questionable landing capabilities. Like a shooting star with no real destination but so much light it was all people talked about the next day. Made her feel like her heart had taken up amateur acrobatics in her chest.  
But making a home with Grace felt like falling asleep in a field of sunflowers. Like reading a book by the fireside. Like the best hit of ganja she's ever had. It was cozy, and comfortable, and more complete than she had ever realised. And this - this life that she traded it all in for - seems more like a cover story than a choice. Than a commitment.

She's due to call Grace in a few minutes - is counting them on the clock as they tick by. Cradles the phone in her hands and smiles at the home screen. Because her lock screen is a photo of Bud and Coyote play fighting on the beach - Bud with his fist pumped in victory, Coyote in a headlock. A photo that lets everyone know how proud she is of her boys. How amazed.

But her home screen - the screen only _she_ can see - is sacred to her. An image of her and Grace that Brianna insisted on taking before Frankie left. Of course, Brianna had imagined something more posed - more magazine-worthy - than this shot, and they had taken many others. But here, Grace had accidentally kicked over a lantern and sent it rolling off the deck, and the stream of curse words that left her mouth had Frankie in stitches. They'd dissolved into fits of giggles and this picture of them - arms around each other, laughing - is Frankie's favourite. Is the one Frankie looks at before she shuts her eyes every night. She hits one on her speed dial and waits for Grace to answer.

Three rings later and Grace's silky tone sounds across the line. "Hello, Cranky Bergstein. It's Godzilla Hanson." Frankie can hear the lilt in her greeting but she's too excited to come up with a sarcastic response.

"Grace!" She squeals. "Oh - it's so good to hear your voice. Tell me everything. How are you? What are you doing? How are our plants?"

She listens to Grace chuckling on the other end. "Well, I'm talking to you, and watching two crabs fight over what looks like a chunk of bratwurst." Frankie snorts. "Our plants seem happy enough - some of the buds are starting to open so I'm getting closer to being Mary Lennox by the day."

Frankie is beaming so wide she thinks Grace can probably see it from San Diego. "Aw man, I wish I could see the crabs Dempsey-rolling each other. And the flowers." She pauses for a minute, then speaks quietly. "And you."

She hears Grace's heavy exhale. "Frankie -" Grace trails off and Frankie thinks she might have pushed too hard.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry." She sniffs, trying to fight back the tears. "I know it's not fair of me. I'm the one who quick-footed it out of there and left you in the lurch." She coughs, trying to compose herself.

"Frankie, it's not that. I just - I'm just -" Grace sighs. "I'm just no good at this."

"At what?" Frankie asks patiently, giving Grace the space to continue.

"Pretending I don't miss you like hell, for one." Grace scoffs and Frankie can practically see the martini swirling around in her glass like a miniature whirlpool. Can see Grace's long, slender fingers, with her pristinely manicured nails, clutching it like a lifeline.

"Well, you don't have to pretend. You're allowed to miss this nutty goddess. I miss you, too."

Frankie knows Grace is trying to smile because she can feel it. "Okay," Grace offers softly.

They talk for a little while longer. About the kids. About Grace's new-found love of french toast. About Frankie's plans to paint a new piece depicting the aforementioned crab-fest.

"I should probably go," Grace finally manages. "I promised Mallory I'd go with her to the new sushi place. Coyote's looking after the little ones tonight."

Frankie grins, thinking about her son and their (because they are 'their', she muses) grandchildren. "Okay, Good Lookin'. I've sent you some mail so be on the lookout for a stamp shaped like a jack-o-lantern."

"Where did you even get - you know what, never mind. Take care of yourself, you hear me? I'll text you later, Fruit Loop." Frankie imagines Grace's lips curving up at the corners. Imagines her like an angel sitting serenely in the moonlight.

"Catch you in a bizzle, Gum Drop. Freaky Bergstein, over and out." She hangs up. Wipes away a sneaky tear. Edits her contacts.

Friday, San Diego

Grace is just heading back from an early stroll when the mailman stops at their box. She waves him good morning and collects the bright green envelope that screams out for attention, along with less attractive ones that she assumes contain the usual battery of bills and paperwork.

Once inside, she sets the others down on the counter and runs her thumb over the gaudy orange pumpkin that adorns the top edge as she waits for her coffee to percolate. Only Frankie would send a pumpkin in July, she smirks.

She perches on a barstool and peels back the flap, carefully pulling out the letter. Suddenly there is glitter everywhere - on her hands, on the island, on the floor, in her hair. Millions of tiny, glinting flecks adorning every possible surface and body part that Grace can think of. Of course. _Of course._ Of course Frankie would do something so outrageously inconvenient and chaotic and, Grace sniffs, _sweet_ and _perfect_. Because now there are thousands of sparkling reminders of Frankie's existence that she knows she will never be able to clean up. Never be able to wash off of herself. Thousands of twinkling reminders that Frankie thought of _her_ , even if it seems like she is a stratosphere away.

She bats away her tears, not caring how much glitter she's transferring onto her face. Swigs her now shimmering coffee. Begins to read.

_Dear Gracie Handsome,_

 

_Just dropping you a line to let you know that I'm still in the land of the living (or at least still on this earthly plane because part of me thinks we might already be dead and buried somewhere in another dimension and are the ghosts of those beings. Here's hoping, because that would be fucking awesome. But I digress)._

_First, I have to tell you about my cheese situation. There is no good cheese here, I swear to you. I mean, the pot is A-grade, can't knock that. I met this kid, Tag, at a hookah joint in town and he hooked me up with some real great stuff. I've been off my tits for about twelve freaking hours and to be honest I can't really feel my fingers. But the cheese thing is an honest to god problem. I asked this rocking lady at the market if they had any Gruyère and she looked at me like I'd just cursed her Rottweiler. Which is entirely possible because I've been trying out my Spanish._

_I've got a couple of projects on the go. My latest painting is of the twins, but I think Mal will flip her lid if she sees it. Like I said, the Mary Jane is stellar but it sent my creative juices haywire. Muddled up a few of the colours and now there's two bouncing babies with unnervingly blue skin. Might need a rethink. But I do like the blue, it reminds me of the ocean. And that tienes los ojos mas bonitos del mundo._

_Your messages about not being enough for the kids tore me up, little Graceling. You just listen to me, yeah? So what if you've got a few loose nuts and bolts rattling around up there and are a few sandwiches short of a picnic. We're all just fucked up, bony-kneed sacks of life doing the best we can. Who might be ghosts anyway, as I said before. You, Goofy H, are radiant as the fucking sun, my friend. Like it or not you don't have a mean in your whole body, you hear me? Our kids are lucky to have you. You're strong, and steely, and gooey as a sticky toffee pudding. Which I now want. I know you, and I see you, and I adore everything I see. There isn't a single particle of you that I would change. Please don't forget that, ever._

_Don't forget me! Pienso en ti todo el tiempo._

_Love always,  
Frankie xXx_

_PS. Sorry about the glitter._  
_PPS. I'm not really sorry._  
_PPPS. Do you think you can FedEx cheese?_

Grace decides she's going to have to ask Bud if he knows any Spanish. If she can ever stop weeping, which does not seem like a possibility.

Saturday, Santa Fe

Frankie sprints across the living room as soon as she hears the first bars of Billy Joel start to play, making a mad dash for her cell. Holds it at eye level and presses answer before both feet even have chance to hit the floor. Exclaims loudly.

"Grace! Oh, _Grace_ , I can see your wonderful little face!" She is shaking with mirth and the image wobbles erratically.

"Frankie, hold it steady! And about five feet back. I can only see your nose." Frankie does as instructed, moving to sit down with her arm propped up on the edge of the couch.

"This is so much better than just voice chatting. Why didn't we do this before?! I can _see_ you!"

Grace's answering laugh warms her heart. "Yes, the wonders of technology. Now, I'll be able to see you too if you move your thumb from the camera lens, Looney Tunes."

"Sorry! Is this better?" Finally, creases worked out, they are good to go.

"Yeah, much better." Grace grins and Frankie feels like everything inside of her is shooting out like silly string. She's missed that expression more than she can reason. Grace looks down shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Frankie sees that tiny, starry pearl and she wants to cry, she really does. Grace glances back up, tilting her head to the side and offering another shaky smile. "I got your letter. Thank you so much." She smiles wider. "I loved it."

For the first time, Frankie notices the traces of glitter on Grace's eyelashes. On her eyebrows. On the bridge of her nose. "Even the glitter?" Frankie tries to look remorseful but her eyes gleam impishly.

Grace nods. "Even the glitter."

"I'm glad. I had to stop hanging with Tag by the way. Man, that stuff was wild but I tell ya, I was starting to taste colours. And guess what? Turns out most colours don't taste great." She wrinkles up her nose. "Ate a green gummy bear and got a mouthful of sauerkraut."

The camera dips as Grace loses her battle against bending over to chuckle. Straightens again after a few moments. "Wow, that does sound unfortunate." She giggles. "What about pancakes with jellybeans?"

Frankie narrows her eyes. Shakes her head. "Nah, I'm not telling you. You'll never believe me."

"Oh come on, try me." Grace tries to appear serious.

Frankie sucks her teeth and then lets out a sigh of resignation. "They tasted like Casu Marzu."

Grace howls, drops the phone, and doesn't stop for a good five minutes. Has tears streaming down her face when she's eventually back on camera. "Well, at least you got your cheese." She starts again, swatting at the salty rivers on her face. Frankie is laughing, too, and she doesn't remember feeling so happy about another person's existence in all her life.

Sunday, San Diego

It's a busy day because Grace has agreed to help Brianna host a family lunch. She's trying to be more involved in everyone's lives - more available, physically and emotionally. She has Frankie to thank for that. It feels wrong to have a family gathering without her, but she's trying to put that on the back burner for now. Trying to be as present as possible. With the exception of replying to Frankie's texts which are, as per, rapidly flooding her inbox.

**My Idiot: What's Sol wearing? Is it his sludge brown tie? If it is that needs to go. ;) xxx**

**My Idiot: Ooh, see if you can spill something on it. Offer to get it dry-cleaned. Then, BOOM, into the incinerator it goes... ;) xxx**

**My Idiot: Has Mal made those little pastry things? Because they are the fucking bee's knees. xxx**

Grace rolls her eyes, glancing at her screen on the counter as she pauses between ferrying plates.

Brianna sidles up behind her. Arches a sculpted brow. "Okay, you can carry on making googly eyes and replying to Frankie in a minute. We need to keep things moving before Allison develops a new allergy we haven't catered for."

Grace looks like a deer in the headlights. Angles her chin defiantly. "How do you know it's Frankie?"

"Mom, please." Brianna gestures to the phone that is still buzzing with a vengeance. "No one else sends you three hundred word stories told in solid emojis. And, oh yeah, I wasn't born yesterday." She folds her arms. "Anyone within a five mile radius of you two idiots knows you're totally in love with her. Don't even bother trying to deny it."

Grace misses the end. Licks her lips. Looks deeply startled. "Do you - do you think Frankie knows?"

She is met with Brianna's signature 'are you kidding me' look. "I would fucking think so." She rolls her eyes - like mother, like daughter. "You two morons are so smitten I'm gonna have to book a dentist appointment just from thinking about it."

Silence hangs over them for a few seconds before Grace asks tentatively, almost whispering. "You think she loves me, too?"

Brianna smiles then, nudging Grace affectionately. "Duh, Mommy. God, you guys are so infuriatingly dim it's actually cute. Disgusting, but cute." She taps Grace on the nose. "Don't tell Bud I said that. Or _anyone_. Now help me take out these dishes. Otherwise Sol will offer to help and I'll be scouting for the closest accessible rooftop."

Grace nods and gives her daughter a watery grin, willing as much love into her face as she can. "Thank you, Sweetheart." She faithfully heads to the dining room, trays in hand.

When she is finally able to give her cell her full attention, she has thirteen notifications. Reads every single message. The last two are a screenshot of Frankie's unanswered texts followed by about seventy question marks.

She took Bud aside earlier. Asked him to help her translate the Spanish from Frankie's letter. To help her write some of her own to use later. She didn't think she could feel any more emotional.

But now, Grace can barely breathe from the weight of it all. Can barely see her screen for tears. Because there, nestled at the top of Frankie's screenshot, in a move Frankie probably doesn't even realise she's made, she's revealed to Grace her name in Frankie's contacts.

Grace makes herself dig up enough courage to reply.

**I'm sorry, Honey. Coyote was telling me about his day with our grandchildren. I'm here now. X**

She hits send. Imagines the message appearing on Frankie's screen in Santa Fe. Appearing on Frankie's screen as "My Angel".

Tuesday, Santa Fe

Frankie hurtles into the kitchen when Jacob calls her to say a package has arrived for her. Thanks him with a kind nod and hurries out on to the balcony.

The bundle is neatly wrapped in a blue mosaic design and Frankie takes a photo of it before she dares to dive in and open it. Grace's writing stands out against the dusky pink label and that alone is enough to send her reeling. Carefully, so _carefully_ , she peels off the tape at the edges, minding not to tear the paper or crease it (she's already vowed to keep it forever). There is another wrapped item inside and a card that she reaches for first.

A polaroid tumbles out when she opens it - their family at Brianna's dinner, trademark grins on each of their faces. The twins seem so much bigger already, and Macklin and Maddy so much taller. Sol is wearing that hideous tie and Grace - Grace looks more beautiful than ever. She has captioned it at the bottom.

'You're here in our hearts. These smiles are for you.' Frankie laughs. Smiles back at them all adoringly. Has so much love for them she thinks she might believe in heaven. Takes a shuddering breath and turns back to the card.

_My dearest Goofball,_

_I hope you like the photograph - I thought you'd like to have it. I meant what I said - you were the talk of the table. There's no escaping us - distance be damned._

_And it really can be damned, Frankie. I'm not as good at this as you - can't get my feelings to come out right like you can. But I'm putting my brain into park and my heart into overdrive. Because I miss you more than I'd like to admit. Every Frankie-ish inch of you. More than I've ever missed anyone, or anything. Every minute of every day I'm reminded of this bullheaded, breathtaking person that I have in my life and I wonder what you're doing. What you're thinking (although the texts cover a lot of that, which I love)._

_Things fell apart for us after our divorces, they did. But you were there to help mend things. You walked straight in to the beach house and straight in to my world like a fricking hurricane and now nothing is right unless you're here with me. Nothing is right, Frankie. You're the most generous, gentle, giving person I've ever met and you're my grounding force. You stop me from orbiting out into space and when you laugh my fucking heart stops._

_Because yes, you drive me up the fucking wall. Nearly into traffic sometimes. And I annoy the hell out of you. But I love it. Without fail, even when we fight like nut jobs, you're the best part of my day, every single day. The one thing, besides the kids, that matters most to me in this whole godforsaken world. The top of my priority list. My favourite everything._

_I want to be the person you call, Frankie, no matter what. To squeeze your hand through the tantrums and hold you through the nightmares. Because you're my person._

_And I know you're with someone. Believe me, I know. And I'm sorry if these ramblings are selfish and unfair, I truly am. I know I'm a coward for not being able to say these things to you when you can actually talk back, but I can't miss any more chances. Because we're one stroke - or one miscalculated left turn - away from losing them forever._

_And I just know that, however much time we have left, I want us to spend it together. I want to be ninety years old, sitting on our porch knitting blankets and racing around in our walkers. Even if we were floor people forever, I'd take it. I'd still take it. Desearia que estuvieras aqui conmigo._

_I'll stop now, because I know I've probably made an ass out of myself, but it's worth it. You're worth it. Did you know that 'Frances' means 'free one'? I looked it up in Allison's book of baby names. I can't help but think your mother named you so wisely. 'Grace' means 'God's favor', so I've decided to call it in._

_Eres el amor de mi vida, Frankie Bergstein. I mean that with all my heart._

_All my love,  
Grace xxx_

Friday, San Diego

Grace hasn't heard from Frankie in three days and she's pretty sure she knows why. Pretty sure it's also why she feels like her stomach is in her shoes. Why carbs are back off the menu.

She's mulling it all over - wondering just how big of a mistake she's actually made - when her phone starts to sound. Frankie's face flashes up on the screen and, taking the bull by the horns, she chooses to answer it rather than run for the hills.

Frankie is ridiculously close to the camera again. Grace can't believe that she doesn't remember this scenario playing out from last time. But she can see her eyes, and they are warm and bright. She can hear the jingling of Frankie's wind chimes over the line. Finds comfort in the fact that she can hear the set Frankie left behind by their own back door. Frankie pulls back the phone a little, so Grace can make out her smile as she talks. "Hello, Sweetheart."

Then Grace hears an almighty thud followed by a litany of swearing and Grace knows she's never heard something more wonderful as long as she's been alive. Because she can hear it from both the phone and her own house. And then she's running, running as fast as her stupidly high heels will allow, her phone falling somewhere along the way. She flings the door open and her world, her entire world, is thrust into technicolour.

She's sobbing - sobbing more than she's ever sobbed before. Takes in the sight of Frankie, a haze of curls and loose fabric and the orange silk scarf Grace had so lovingly sent to her. Feels her knees buckle as Frankie moves to catch her. And then she's in Frankie's arms, her own winding around Frankie's neck. Frankie is crying too, she realises, and they hold each other impossibly tightly. Like two velcro strips. Like the mouth of a sealed envelope.

"I'm with _you_ , Grace. With you all the way." Frankie speaks into Grace's neck. She pulls back and looks straight into her field of cornflowers. " _Eres el amor de mi vida_ , Grace Hanson. I mean that with all my heart."

Grace's beam could light up San Diego for a year. Could put several power plants out of business. She still can't believe that Frankie's here, on their back porch, surrounded by several knocked over suitcases. In her arms. Grace laughs, and weeps, and clumsily bumps her lips against Frankie's, smiling too much to make it perfect. It's perfect anyway. Grace doesn't think she's ever been kissed more sweetly, or hungrily, or reverently. Has never felt more _loved_ than she does right now. More tenderly worshipped.

They are here, under the moonlight, watched over by the stars and the ocean's waves.

The sweet peas are in full bloom and, in the morning, the honey bees will finally arrive.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! The Spanish means:
> 
>  _Tienes los ojos mas bonitos del mundo_. – You have the prettiest eyes in the world.
> 
>  _Pienso en ti todo el tiempo_. – I think about you all the time.
> 
>  _Desearia que estuvieras aqui conmigo_ \- I wish you were here with me.
> 
>  _Eres el amor de mi vida_ \- You are the love of my life.
> 
> (I hope.)
> 
> Please comment if you enjoyed it! :) I'd love feedback! It feeds my little soul.


End file.
